Ghost
by dangereusegirl2009
Summary: It had started off as a simple job. What it became was bigger than either could have ever suspected. Fenris/OC. Slight AU.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Hello everybody! Welcome to my first ever Dragon Age fanfic. This idea has been floating around in my brain for quite some time. I guess you could say it came about when I found out that if not romancing him, Fenris and Isabela have a 'friends with benefits' type of relationship. Having romanced him in every playthrough of DA2, I find it sad that a character with such promise for happiness will simply settle for booty calls. No offense to Isabela, I love her dearly, but Fenris deserves more than that. This is my attempt to give him better.

Title of fic comes from JES's song "Ghost"

Many thanks to MCR over at the BSN, who was kind enough to beta this first chapter for me.

As always, if you like the story, then please subscribe and leave a review for me. And enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_"Were they not satisfied where they were?" asked the little prince._

_"No one is ever satisfied where he is," said the switchman. _

-A Little Prince

Fenris leaned back in his bunk as the ship left port. He knew not of the vessel's final destination, only that it was taking him far away from this Maker-forsaken fishing village on the outskirts of Orlais. It did not matter if he ended up in Denerim or Gwaren.

Either way, he was going to die.

If the dangers of having been living on the run for so long weren't enough to do him in, then Danarius's men surely would. The Tevinter magister was usually quite adamant about having his investments returned to him, and Fenris bore no illusions on what would happen if he were returned to his former master. He had almost found out the eve before.

For the happiness of one little elf child, Fenris had nearly been shipped back to a man who would make him suffer even more agony than the ritual that had aided him in his escape.

Not that it really mattered. There wasn't much in this world that Fenris could honestly say he cared about.

He still wasn't completely sure why he had stuck his neck out for a complete stranger, other than the sight of the girl's bright red hair had something twisting painfully in his chest. Before he could catch himself, Fenris found himself reaching for the pack he had stowed under his bunk. His long fingers closed gently around the soft figurine nestled between a few basic necessities he had bought before boarding the ship.

It was the only time that he could recall anyone ever giving him something without asking for some type of payment.

Taking the doll out of his pack, he ran his hands over the elaborate braiding of the doll's carmine locks. They were so soft, almost like spun silk. Someone had quite clearly taken great pains to keep the toy in such great condition. In his mind, Fenris could see the little elf girl sitting by a warm hearth, brushing her plaything's hair with a quiet solemnity. She probably spent hours on this doll.

Loved it like it was her own...

"_And then the Maker sealed the gates_

_Of the Golden City_

_And there, He dwelled, waiting_

_To see the wonders_

_His children would create_."

The verse from the Chant of Light rang in his mind. The elfling had wasted a great deal of her time molding this doll to a state of perfection and gave it to him for merely being at the right place at the right time. More than likely, she had no idea just how touched he was by her simple gift.

"You are a fool," he muttered, crushing the toy in his gloved hand as his lips curled in a sardonic grin. "Treasuring an urchin's toy as if it were gold. For one little girl's gratitude, you've consigned yourself to a tortured existence."

Shutting his eyes, he inhaled sharply.

Truer words could not be spoken. Once more, he was going to endure countless hours of physiological and psychological torture for simply being.

"What does it matter?"

He spoke the words out loud, confidence ringing in his tone. Let them come. If they did not kill him before docking at the next port, he'd put up one hell of a fight, and a fight was always a welcome change to the monotony.

He looked forward to it.

Furious with himself and the world in general, Fenris shoved the doll back in his pack and put it somewhere out of reach.

Leaning back once more against the bunk's headboard, he shut his eyes, took several deep breaths, and tried to relax before the men on board mustered the courage to attack.

It was, after all, what they had been paid to do, and if they had any common sense they would do their jobs, because if they did not, Fenris would do his.


	2. Chapter One: Hunted

Disclaimer: Bioware owns it all

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

"_I felt like a hunted animal, followed constantly, waiting to be killed."_

_-Richard Jewell_

* * *

><p>There were many interpretations to purgatory. Fenris was quite familiar with the subject. In his lifetime, he'd managed to go through the standard versions, and even managed to find a few new ones.<p>

Why did it seem like every time he'd finally taken control of his life, Fate came by and knocked him on his ass?

Pointy ears twitching, he could make out the sound of footsteps against wet cobblestone coming from the alleyway behind him as he made his way home from the Hanged Man in Lowtown. Fury, white hot and brutal, tore through him. He reached behind him to grip the handle of his broadsword. Fenris had been stalked enough in his adult life to recognize the signs of someone trailing him while trying to maintain a low-profile.

It was too bad for them, because Fenris just wasn't in the mood tonight.

The moonlight flickered against drying puddles of water that made splashing sounds beneath his bare feet. The salty tang of the nearby ocean lent an almost relaxing element to an otherwise uneasy evening. In the distance, a stray dog howled at the darkened sky.

Unless he was very much mistaken, which he rarely was, ten thugs were all that stood between him and his dilapidated Hightown mansion. A surprisingly low number, if they were sent by his former master. Besides the stray dog, only Fenris and the ten of them were on the street this late at night-another reason why they could only be after one thing-

Him.

"Come and face me, if you've the courage," he growled, incapable of finding even the slightest amount of compassion for any soul foolish enough to try and take him on. What little patience he had before this had disappeared when he left the Hanged Man.

_Big mistake, boys. I wouldn't want to be you tonight._

Right now, he was itching for the chance to spill blood without really caring whose blood it was. They were unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

Rule number one to surviving Kirkwall nights: never attack someone who was already pissed off at the world in general. It never ended well for the losing side.

For the past week, he'd been forced to wade through a river of complete and total bullshit. The high point of which was being informed that the so-called reliable source he'd spent the last of his coin on had just been fished out of the harbor, his throat slit and naked as the day he'd been born.

_Well isn't that bloody fantastic._

Earlier in the day, he'd been attacked by a group of mercenaries determined to make the Wounded Coast their new base of operations. They had been equally determined to remove his head from the rest of his body. He hadn't given them the chance.

To make things even better, Hawke hadn't spoken a word to him since returning from the Deep Roads. Part of that could be blamed on Carver joining the Grey Wardens, but Fenris thought there was more to it than that. Unfortunately, with her not forthcoming with those details, all he could do was guess.

Right now, life was too sickening for words and he was tired of constantly dealing with it.

Fenris slid his claymore off his back and gripped the handle firmly in his hands.

His stalkers were about to find out that it wasn't good to challenge elves that didn't get enough rest.

Swiveling on the balls of his bared feet, he slipped in another alley to his left. This farce had gone on for too long, and he was going to make sure it ended right here, right now.

Taking refuge behind an abandoned merchant's stall, he tried his best to not gag at the smell of decomposition around him. He'd smelled worse while serving Danarius, who'd gone to a number of unsavory locations in the hopes of improving his rank among the magisters. His jaw clenched involuntarily at the memory, which was doing nothing to lighten his mood.

The footsteps drew nearer. Fenris tightened his grip on the sword in anticipation of the fight to come.

"Where'd he go? He was here a second ago."

He nearly snorted at the incredulity in the male's voice. The speaker's voice was laced with a Rivaini accent. Isabela would love that, he thought sardonically. He would have made a mental note to remind himself to tell her about it later, had it not been for the fact that her blatant flirting unnerved him greatly.

"Maybe he went down that alleyway." A different, deeper voice joined the first. "Why don't you check it out Thorne?"

"Me?" Fenris smirked at the hitch in the man's voice. "Why not Pascal?"

A third voice spoke. "Because he didn't say me. Now go do it!"

Fenris risked a peak around the corner of the stall. Thorne was a grimy, twenty-something human male that appeared to have met the wrong end of a door. The man stumbled slightly as he was pushed forward into the darkened alley. Unlike his own eyes, which could see perfectly fine in the darkness, Fenris knew the rat-faced man would have to wait as his eyes got used to the change in lighting.

He bared his teeth in a feral grin. What would the man do if he knew just how close he was to his target?

With a calm, deliberant manner, he slipped behind the human.

"Looking for me?"

Thorne whipped around with a startled gasp, his eyes wide as he tried focusing on the elf. When the man began fumbling for his daggers, Fenris snorted. Temporarily stunning the man with a quick jab to the jugular, he jerked his weapons from their sheaths and sent them flying down the alley, where they landed with a muffled thump.

"Damon!" Thorne cried.

Fenris pushed the thug towards the wall, and turned to see a large black man come lumbering at him. Eight other males, both dwarf and human, followed closely on his heels.

"There's a bounty on your head, slave," Damon snarled. "You're a wanted elf. Dead or alive."

Fenris could only hazard a guess which way they wanted to take him.

Too bad he wasn't going.

He almost missed the glint of steel as the large dagger was swiped at him. Rogues were common in this part of the Free Marches, and it was never wise to let them get the upper hand. Time spent with Hawke had taught him that allowing a rogue time to make a move usually ended with a dagger in between his ribs.

Ducking just in the nick of time, Fenris took a step back. He wanted to put as much distance between that poison-coated blade as he could. One nick through his armor and he was as good as dead.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Thorne scramble to his feet and join his comrades behind Damon. They didn't seem to want to join the fight any time soon. Evidently they were under the ridiculous assumption that he was going to fall under Damon's blades.

They would soon see the truth.

Damon charged. Fenris danced out of the way of the man's moving daggers, swinging his own blade as he did so. In one clean sweep, he removed Damon's head from the rest of his body, which fell with a sickening thud.

The others surged forward to attack. The intricate marks on his body began to glow, and he rammed his fist through the chest of the first one who reached him. He twisted his hand, and the man made an odd gurgling sound as blood spilled forth from his mouth.

The next one tried to slice off his arm while he was distracted. Fenris shifted, dodging the blade, which cut into the shoulder of another member of their group, who let loose a blood curdling scream. Fenris reached for the man that had swung at him, catching him by the throat. His markings flared once more, and he crushed the fool's windpipe before letting the corpse drop to the ground.

The rest of the fighting passed in a blur. Before he knew it, Fenris was left standing amidst in a sea of dead or dying thugs. Shouldering his broadsword, Fenris stepped over the prone form of a dwarf whose brain had been forcibly removed from his ears.

Tired of constantly having to battle his way through mercenaries and slavers that always seemed to be dogging his steps, he stepped out of the alley and headed for the bridge that would take him back to Hightown. With any luck, he'd make it home before something else came along to ruin his evening.

He doubted it though.

The sound of footsteps pounding against the cobblestone streets had Fenris bracing himself for another attack. He turned, expecting to see more thugs itching for a fight.

What he found was a small elven woman, staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

"You killed them all, didn't you?" she asked. "Those men in the alley?"

"Yes. They are dead."

Her face broke into a smile, as if this was exactly what she'd been hoping to hear. "Oh, blessed be the Maker! You are truly a gift sent from Andraste herself!"

He stared at the elf. "What do you mean?"

She bowed her head. "I have been praying in the Chantry each and every day, asking for my prayers to be answered. And they have!"

"You…prayed for me?"

"I prayed for Andraste to send a warrior strong enough to help my master. He worries about his daughter, you see. Afraid someone's going to take her for blackmail."

Fenris folded his arms across his chest. "And you think this someone is me?"

She looked at him, suddenly nervous. "Who else could take out so many with only a sword to aid him?"

He could think of a few. "And what makes you think I would possibly want to help you and your master?"

"My master is willing to pay good coin for his daughter's protection, serah. Good coin is always useful to a free elf, yes?"

He considered the elven woman's words. It was true, he could use the coin. The last of his money was spent on a dead contact. If he were ever going to hear about Danarius returning to Kirkwall, he was going to need coin for sources. With Hawke currently trying to elevate herself to Kirkwall noble, it was unlikely she would be calling upon him for mercenary work anytime soon. How difficult would it be to take care of some noble's brat?

"Very well," he said finally. "Tell your master I will accept this job of his."

The elf clapped her hands together. "Oh, thank you, serah. You will not regret this, I promise. I will go tell him right now."

Fenris watched hurry up the street. It was an easy job, he told himself. And he could use the coin.

So why was he feeling so uneasy?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Oh hai an update! This chapter was a little difficult for me to write, since I wasn't sure if I was really portraying Fenris correctly. So far, the people I've asked seemed to think so. Disagree? Leave me a review and tell me why.

This chapter is currently un-betaed, so if you catch any mistakes, be sure to let me know. I don't want to come off as a complete goober. XD

I'm going to be going on vacation in a few days, so I'm not completely sure when the next update will be. I'll try to get it up soon, however, so I don't leave you in suspense.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
